Creatures in Cages
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *Post-War AU* New Medi-Witch Hermione has no intention of getting to know Fenrir Greyback any better than she already does. After a newly-implemented 'routine medical visit' to Azkaban goes awry, trapping her in his cell, she'll have no way around it. SPORADIC UPDATES
1. Chapter 1

**1)** Post-War AU

 **2)** Updates will be sporadic, chapter lengths may vary wildly.

 **About Reviews:** They make my day and warm my little black heart. If you've the time, please consider leaving one **^_^**

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 **Fenrir Greyback Fancast:** Jason Momoa

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 **DISCLAIMER** **:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ , or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this story.

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 **Chapter One**

"Well, well, well . . . ."

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she heard his voice, low and gravelly, echoing off the pocked stone walls of the passage that preceded his cell.

"There's a delightful scent I remember oh, _too_ , well."

Madam Guir frowned and shook her head, pushing the younger witch on ahead of her. She would swear the girl hadn't even realized she'd frozen in place. "Oh, go on, Miss Granger. He won't bite you."

Her shoulders slumping, Hermione nodded with some reluctance. Even Greyback in his little cage to which they were drawing closer, step by nerve jangling step, recognized that the woman was joking. His rich chuckle boomed through the confined space.

"He's already in solitary confinement, Madam. What makes you think he wouldn't at least try?"

Placing a gentle hand on her student-healer's arm, Madam Guir offered a comforting smile. "Because that beast knows what'll happen to him if he tries to harm one of us."

Fenrir was surprisingly quite as the two females, escorted by a surly-looking Auror who appeared to wish he could be anywhere else, right now, finally reached the end of the lower level corridor that led to the solitary confinement chambers.

Hermione felt a little jolt in the center of her chest at seeing him for the first time since the War. Those amber eyes that traced over her, the arched brows she remembered waggling suggestively at her as he'd talked about wanting to take bites of her. That scraggly jet hair laced with silver that hung loose around his broad shoulders. Bare . . . ? _Bare_ shoulders? Why wasn't he . . . ?

A blush flaring in her cheeks, she immediately spun on her heel, putting her back to him. He chuckled at her reaction, though the elder witch accompanying her only stared at his face with a withering and exhausted expression.

"Mr. Greyback," the supervising Medi-witch said in a stern tone, "please get dressed."

"Sorry, love. They just put me back in from one of their lovely ice-cold showers. Didn't even let me dry off." Smirking he leaned nearer to the bars. "Step a little closer and I'm sure even your old eyes could make out the drops of water still on my skin."

"Goddamit Greyback, get dressed!"

His brows shot up and a laugh bubbled out of him at the Mudblood's order, all but shouted through clenched teeth he was sure. "What's the matter, Brown Eyes? Afraid you might see something you'll like?"

"Afraid I might vomit, actually," she said, shaking her head.

"Bit counterproductive for me to cover myself up when you ladies are here to examine me, isn't it?"

"Wand scans don't require the removal of the subject's trousers, Mr. Greyback."

He rolled his eyes at the elder witch. "Fine."

Only when Hermione heard an end to the sudden rustling of fabric, did she turn back to face him, once more. Still didn't have a shirt on, just her luck. She was perfectly aware he only half-dressed on purpose—testing if a constant, unhindered view of his muscles could ruffle her feathers. "You're insufferable."

"Oh, that almost sounded like a growl from that pretty little throat of yours."

The young woman reflexively recoiled. She couldn't help herself. Werewolves talking about one's throat could have that effect on a girl.

"Relax, Miss Granger." Madam Guir moved to unlock the door as the Auror, Mr. Krist, kept his wand trained steadily on Fenrir. "I told you, he can't harm you."

Drawing a deep breath, Hermione nodded, but her steps toward the cell were halted as Fenrir snickered, once more.

"Oh, yeah. I heard you say that, too." He held up his hands in response to the Auror's offensive posture, but only grinned as he locked his gaze on Hermione's through the bars. "Now, what makes you think that if I got my teeth on this one, it would be to _harm_ her?"

Madam Guir muttered something in a scolding tone, but Hermione didn't really hear her. Her attention was riveted on Fenrir for a breathless moment. It wasn't the lurid meaning behind his words that had her feeling pinned to the spot. There was a strange tone of sincerity in his voice just now. Could it be possible that when he'd talked about biting her, he'd really only meant it in a, well, _lurid_ sense?

Though her eyes had been locked with his the entire time, she was startled to notice an amused glint suddenly spark through those amber depths. "Huh."

Her brows pinched together as she echoed the sound. "Huh?"

"You really are as bright as advertised, aren't you?"

Squaring her shoulders, she forced her legs into motion once more as she said in a calm, clipped voice, "I've no idea what you mean."

Again, the werewolf smirked. "No. O' course you don't."

Glancing back at the Auror, she noted how steady his wand arm was. Greyback would be on the ground writhing in agony if he even flinched in her direction. Good.

Drawing her own wand, she entered the cell, stepping inside as far as she dared as she waited for her mentor to join them. Her eyes had been locked with Fenrir's as she moved.

Just then, she felt a strange zinging in the pit of her stomach. Something was _wrong._

She wanted to think she only imagined the sudden look of surprise that flickered across Greyback's face, but no. With that same expression on his face—something she thought hinged on terror, an emotion she never _dreamed_ one such as he could feel—he darted his gaze from her, to the witch and wizard waiting at the open cell door, and then up to the ceiling.

"Move!" he shouted, bolting across his cell.

Everything happened so fast then, that she couldn't process it until she was standing in a plume of gritty dust. Coughing, she threw her arm around her face to cover her mouth. With a flick of her wand to clear the air, she blinked, trying to adjust her vision to the newly darkened surroundings.

 _Okay, okay. What just happened?_

Fenrir Greyback had leapt across the cell floor, pulling her away from the door just as a wall crashed down in front of it. But Mr. Krist had acted the moment the werewolf'd moved. His stunning spell had stuck just as Fenrir Greyback's hand had closed around Hermione's arm and tugged her out of the way.

The look of horrified surprise on both the Auror's and Madam Guir's faces at witnessing the slab of stone fall seemed imprinted on her mind's eye.

Spinning to face the wall, she slapped her palm against it. A jolt stung her skin and she immediately snatched back her hand, just barely keeping herself from yelping at the shock. Bloody hell, this wall was warded!

Hissing, she shook her hand as she shouted through the stone."Madam Guir? Mr. Krist? Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, we're all right!" the Medi-witch shouted back.

Her entire body seemed to lose sensation for a moment with the flood of relief that washed through her. "What happened?"

"It's one of the prison's new security measures," Mr. Krist yelled back in answer. "But it's only supposed to be triggered by an escape attempt, and I didn't hear any alarms. This seems like it might be a malfunction of some sort. We'll have to go to the main floor and find out what's happening."

Hermione's eyes shot wide. "You're going to leave me here?"

"Miss Granger, I need you to remain calm. Remember you are _armed_ , and he is currently stunned. We must go for help, because if this was an accident, it might take some time to sort it. The sooner we alert the prison to this, the sooner we can get you out."

"I promise," Madam Guir shouted. "The moment I know what's happening, I'll come back and tell you. Just do not drop your guard in there."

Hermione knew, logically, that with this giant slab of rock between them, neither Madam Guir or Mr. Krist wouldn be able to help her, anyway, if Greyback were to try anything. Standing about on the other side would serve no purpose other than to settle her nerves. And, given her current circumstances, anything that took the edge off her alertness—like the comfort of a familiar voice—could give the werewolf just the window in her defenses he would need to do, well, _something_ nefarious to her.

Though, with his little quip moments ago, she started to wonder if what he thought about doing to her was indeed nefarious, or simply . . . a bit debauched.

"I understand," she finally said, nodding.

"I'll try to hurry back, Miss Granger. I _promise!_ "

Hermione couldn't hear their retreating steps through the stone, but she knew they were hurrying along the corridor, then. Or, rather she hoped they were. She'd hate to think they were standing about twiddling their thumbs.

Though she wanted to keep up a facetious line of thought to help herself focus without panicking, she just didn't have it in her. And, as luck would have it, it was as just hoped Madam Guir and Mr. Krist's footfalls were retreating down that narrow passageway, that she heard a rumbling groan behind her.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, the witch pivoted to face the interior of the cell. She raised her wand as she moved, desperate not to give him any chance to get the drop on her.

Fenrir Greyback had pulled himself up to sit on his knees. Rotating his shoulders, he patted himself down, seeming to self-assess for any injuries. When he turned his head to look at her, his attention went from her face to her wand, and back.

Chuckling, he shrugged, as though this wasn't an alarming situation. "Well, Brown Eyes. 'S just you and me, now."

The only thing that kept Hermione from backpedaling a step was remembering the unpleasant jolt the warding on the security wall would give her.

"Whatever will we do to pass the time?" he asked, a wicked grin curving his lips.

* * *

Madam Guir blinked in confusion. "You cannot possibly be serious!"

Mr. Krist shook his head and held up his hands. "Don't look at me! I wasn't made privy to this information, either."

The elder witch scowled, turning a lethal glare on the warden. "Did you really think this _wasn't_ going to be an issue?"

Fixing her with a tired expression, the wizard produced a scroll from his desk and handed it to her. "Not my doing, this mess. Came direct from the Ministry."

Madam Guir snatched the scroll from his waiting hand and unfurled it. The look on her face shifted from lethal to aghast as she read it over.

Shaking her head, she lowered the document. She gave herself a moment to breathe as she collected her thoughts enough to speak. Lashing out angrily at these men would do no good. "You should've at least explained this to me before I agreed to—"

"Forgive me, Madam," the warden said, holding up his finger. "I was instructed to keep the matter hush-hush. That meant not telling anyone who didn't _absolutely_ have to be brought in on it."

"But my student—"

"Will be fine."

Madam Guir spoke through clenched teeth. "You _can't_ know that."

"I have been assured that no harm will come to . . . ." He let his voice trail off as she whirled on her heel and stormed out of the room.

Turning his attention to Mr. Krist, the warden handed him the scroll. "Do make sure she doesn't cause anymore trouble than this issue already has."

The Auror merely looked at it. "I am not your lapdog."

"No." The other wizard didn't seem any happier about this situation. "But then you are the Ministry's, aren't you?" When Mr. Krist narrowed his eyes, the warden shrugged and tried for a sympathetic look. "We all are."

His shoulders drooping, Mr. Krist grabbed the scroll in an angry motion and turned to follow the fuming Medi-witch.

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"We are not going to do anything," Hermione said in a hissing whisper. "Except wait for them to fix this mess."

"I was stunned, not deafened. I heard for myself this was a malfunction. Who knows how long it'll take them to sort this." Climbing to his feet, he made his way over to his half-broken cot and took a seat. "Might as well get comfy."

"No, thank you."

She was unnerved at the way he held her gaze so steadily. But then, she was certain she was probably the most interesting thing he'd seen in a long while. That, and the way things had gone down the last time they'd seen one another, she couldn't say she was surprised by his seeming fascination with her.

Glancing down for barely half a second, she gauged her distance from the shock-wall. Yet, as she lifted her gaze back to the werewolf, she realized something. Something she'd not really registered in the moment.

She'd just glimpsed the impression of her heels in the dirt on the cell floor. Her prints peeked out from under the edge of the wall.

Dear God! She'd been standing precisely where the wall had come crashing to the ground. If Greyback hadn't pulled her out of the way . . . .

"What's the matter, Brown Eyes? Something troubling you?"

Swallowing hard, she schooled her features. She thought it evident in his tone that he knew the understanding she'd just come to. But if she let on that he was right, she couldn't be sure he wouldn't find a way to use that against her, somehow.

That, and she wasn't at all certain how to feel about the knowledge that Fenrir Greyback had just saved her life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"What's the matter, Brown Eyes? Bored?" Fenrir asked after God only knew how many strained and silent moments had ticked by between them—but not until he'd noticed her wand arm starting to tremble from the strain of keeping her weapon at the ready.

"Not bored, irritated. And don't call me that!"

He pursed his lips and tapped his finger against his bearded chin. "Oh, why not? Don't want a nickname from someone like me?"

She gritted her teeth, holding in another little growling sound he'd undoubtedly love to hear from her _pretty little throat._ "No, I don't honestly care what you deign to call me, Greyback, just so long as it's not that. I hate that name."

The werewolf seemed to consider that for a time, his—unfortunately chiseled—features taking on a pensive expression as his gaze wandered over her again and again.

She was pretty sure he'd committed her measurements to memory long ago, though.

"Ah. Perfect. I'll call you _Skönhet_."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully in spite of herself. "Is that a Scandinavian language?"

"Sorry, did _Fenrir_ not give that away? Yes, it's Swedish."

The witch rolled her eyes impatiently. "What's it mean?"

Smirking once more, he leaned back on his elbows as he held her gaze. "Beauty."

"Oh, I get it, because you're a 'beast', right?"

He chuckled. "Admit it. That nearly got a laugh out of you."

"I'll admit no such thing and—" She cut herself off at the sight of him suddenly sitting bolt upright.

Fenrir held up a silencing finger as he climbed to his feet in a quick, fluid motion and tilted his head. It was more than obvious he was listening for something. Not wanting to disturb the process, but keeping her wand trained on him, still, she shrugged and mouthed the question, _What is it?_

He whispered back, his voice impossibly low, "Someone's coming."

She held her breath for a few nerve-jangling seconds. They'd been expecting someone to come back, so if the werewolf seemed on high alert about it, she wouldn't drop her guard, either.

"Miss Granger!"

Relief swept through her so fast, Hermione was surprised she didn't collapse on the spot. "Madam Guir! Oh, thank God!"

"I'm . . . I'm so sorry, my dear."

"Sorry? What—?"

"They are working on getting you out, but there's a complication. It may be while before the wall can be raised."

Fenrir's lips peeled back from his teeth in a vicious snarl. "She's lying," he said to Hermione in a hissing whisper.

"What? Why would she?"

He glared at the wall that separated them from the rest of the world. "I've no idea."

"You'll just have to keep yourself safe, all right? It shouldn't be very long."

The tones buried in Madam Guir's voice told Fenrir she was being deceitful, and that she was upset by it. Not upset enough in his view.

"Stop lying you old crone!"

Hermione jumped at the werewolf's unexpected booming bellow. "Don't speak to her like that! How can you be so sure—?"

"Because I've got the hearing of a fucking wolf, _Skönhet_ , and I can _hear_ that that woman is lying to you."

"In this situation? What could she possibly have to lie about"

"That there's a complication? That they're working on getting you out? Take your pick, I'm a werewolf, not a bloody mind reader."

"Madam Guir," the younger witch shouted, hating that she could feel tears clogging her throat—could Fenrir Greyback be right? "Tell me he's wrong! _Please?"_

There was a terrible silence following her question. And then . . . .

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. There's . . . there's nothing I can do to help you."

" _What?!_ Madam Guir?" More silence. "Madam Guir!"

"It's no use, she's walking away."

Hermione could feel those tears gather in her eyes as she met Fenrir's gaze. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

She hated that a genuine look of confusion flickered across his face as he said, "Fucked if I know."

"What're we going to do?"

His shoulders slumped as his gaze shot from hers, to her wand still aimed at him in a trembling and weary grip, and back. "Well, first thing you're going to do is put that down."

"Not bloody likely," she snapped, giving him an incredulous once-over.

A soft growl rumbling in the back of his throat, Fenrir shook his head. "Think for a goddamn minute! As long as that wall's down, there's no getting anything through to us. No food, no water . . . no _air_."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Her features pinched in a frantic look as she tried to sort her thoughts, as she darted her gaze about the cell. There was a metal cup of water, a dish of not-yet-touched food—though she used the word _food_ loosely—even if they rationed that between them, it wouldn't last the next twenty-four hours. The cell was large, which meant it would take time before they ran out of air . . . but it would still happen if that wall wasn't raised. Which meant twenty-fours hours might find them both dead on the floor for all either of them knew, rationing of food and water or notwithstanding.

"The window," she said suddenly, the word spilling from her lips before she even caught up to her own thoughts.

His brow furrowed as he asked, "What?"

"There's . . . there's no window in here, but this corridor is above the water level. All the other cells above this floor have windows. Where is the window for _this_ cell?"

Again, he said, "Fucked if I know. I think they covered over the windows in these cells when they decided to make this the solitary confinement wing following the War."

"They should've realized what a stupid decision that was when they put in this bloody security wall."

"You'd think, wouldn't you?"

Noticing the twitching of her own straining arm, she eyed him as she finally—reluctantly—lowered her weapon to her side. She didn't slacken her grip on it, though, keeping it at the ready in case she needed to snap her wand right back into position.

"Okay, neither of us knows what's going on, but our best bet right now is to find that window." She shook her head at the dubious look he gave her. "Look, barely any food, barely any water, yes, but the lack of oxygen will kill us before any of that even matters. The portions of the original wall would be more solidly reinforced against magical bombardment than simply some small window they filled in. We find where the window was, I can blast it open; we get air, and maybe a chance to not die in this ruddy little cell, _okay?!"_

He hid a smirk at her fiery display, holding up his hands. "I'd say we just repeatedly blast the wall until you make a hole, but I've a feeling you're reluctant to do anything that would allow me the slightest chance at escape, even if it means risking your own life to keep me locked up."

"And your feeling would be correct."

The werewolf snickered at that. She really didn't notice how at ease she actually was around him, even with her supposed dread of him, did she? Unless she typically had comfortable banter with those she hated and feared. "So, what's your plan, _Skönhet_?"

She rolled her eyes at the nickname, but let it slide. Some affectionate moniker was the least of her concerns right now. "Well, _Beast_ , how sharp is your sense of smell?"

A puzzled expression crossed his face.

"You said you've got the hearing of wolf, right?" She gestured toward the where the window should be. "And you also said the covering of the window is new, yes?"

Realization dawning in his eyes, Fenrir nodded. "And you want to see if I can sniff out the difference between the new and old building materials, 's that it?"

The witch shrugged, a doubtful frown curving her lips as she thought back on glimpsing the cells on the floors above. "It's better than standing about doing nothing, isn't it? According to the prison's layout, the window should be in that wall, there," she said, jutting her chin in the suspect wall's direction.

Holding up his hands, once more, he turned toward it. "I could think of loads of better things we could do with our last breaths, but you're the one with the wand."

"And don't you forget it," she responded through lightly clenched teeth. The last thing she needed was for him to start making lurid suggestions.

Shaking his head, he turned his focus on the wall. Taking a good, long, whiff of the most visibly time-weathered portion, he started moving along the stonework.

She noted the way his head flicked to one side for the briefest moment, as though distracted by something. He didn't quite seem to notice it, himself, as he walked sideways, running his fingers across the rough surface as he took intermittent sniffs.

Hermione pulled her gaze from him as she realized her attention had lowered to wander the muscled lines of his back.

"What, um, what was that?" she asked.

"What was what?"

She arched a brow, though she refused to look up at any part of him again so soon after that _very_ glaring lapse in judgement just now. "You did this funny little head-twitch thing."

"Oh." He shook his head as he continued his search. "There was something over there that smelled _off_. Actually . . . ." Fenrir paused, leaning close and drawing in a long, deep breath. "It actually smelled like _this_ spot, here."

Stepping back just a little, he traced the edge of the different scent. Certainly looked like the shape of an Azkaban cell window. "Not newer materials. The make up of the stuff they used to block the window is different than the original materials, all together."

"Wait . . . that wall over there smells _new_?"

Backpedaling, he returned to his starting point and took a long whiff. "Yeah. That should be a solid wall, shouldn't it?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Yeah, that should be foundation that runs right alongside the passage down here."

"Well, seems to me someone's—"

" _Bombarda Maxima_!"

Fenrir lurched backward, throwing his arms over his head to avoid the splintered stone debris flying everywhere. Turning toward the witch, he saw her standing there with a furious expression twisting her face.

". . . Hiding something. Oy!" he bellowed, dropping his arms as the dust settled. "Want to warn someone next time you decide to turn a wall into shrapnel right in front of his face?"

Schooling her features, she met his gaze with a cool look and spoke with slow, precise enunciation. "I got very angry, and it was either you or the suspicious wall."

His eyes holding hers for a few heartbeats, he shrugged as he said, "Fair enough."

Hermione's gaze shifted from him to the destroyed wall. Her jaw fell open and she scrambled for something to say as she peered into the darkness. "That's . . . that's really a tunnel, isn't it?"

Following her indication, he nodded. "Seems so. I know you didn't want to let me out, but chances are, this is just some sort of workman's shaft that will let us out somewhere else in the prison."

"Can we be sure it's not a dead end?"

With a sigh, Fenrir stepped to the hole in the wall and ducked his head in, taking a deep breath. "The air's musty, but it's moving. This lets out _somewhere_."

As he pulled his head back, he could detect the sudden twinge of nervousness coming off her. "Or," he offered, his hands spread as he faced her, "We could just stay here now that we've got more air, and wait for them to come get us. You know, my jailors and the old bat who lied to you."

Hermione didn't like the jab at her mentor, at all. "I assure you that if Madam Guir was being deceitful with me, she had her reasons. I think it's fairly obvious something . . . unusual is going on here. Maybe she didn't even want to lie to me, did you think of that?"

"What the fuck do I care if she wanted to or not?" He gave her a skeptical once-over, as though he couldn't believe the words falling from her lips. "You Light witches really are daft sometimes."

She drew up to her full—comparatively meager—height, practically growling as she said, "I beg your pardon?"

Rolling his eyes, he sighed. "She _lied_. We have no idea how long we're going to be in this cell, and that," he said, stabbing his finger in the direction of his paltry prison meal, "is all the food or drink we have. And you are the one with the weapon, so obviously, _I'm_ not going anywhere if you don't let me. So now, the question is, do we see where this tunnel leads, or stubbornly wait here and hope we get rescued before we starve, or dehydrate, to _death_?"

Hermione knew he was speaking sensibly. Conjuring water was always a possibility . . . but again came the idea of not knowing how long it might take for anyone to come get them out of this. They would have water and air, but without food? She couldn't say for certain how long she could go before her strength and focus began to wane, that could hinder not only the amount of the drinking water she could conjure, but the quality.

She also knew that she just didn't _want_ to agree with Greyback because she didn't want to believe Madam Guir would willing allow her to be trapped with Fenrir Greyback. She didn't want to believe her being trapped here could be anything more than some terrible accident.

But she knew something was off, here. She'd felt it in those seconds before the wall had crashed down. And Greyback was correct, no matter what she wanted to think, if she waited for rescue, she might pay with her life.

And since when did _she_ wait to be rescued?

"Fine, but you walk ahead of me," she said, before illuminating her wand. "I want you where I can see you."

Shaking his head as he breathed a snicker, Fenrir started into the tunnel. "You sure? I am part wolf, remember?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" she asked, crinkling her nose at the musty air.

Again he laughed, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I'm only saying I think you'd be pleasantly surprised with what I'd do if you allowed me behind you."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped, she cheeks flaming while she tried not to picture the werewolf behind her, at all. There was _no_ way she was suddenly imagining those gorgeous back muscles rippling as he moved against her, or those teeth of his dragging across the skin of her throat in one of those not-to-harm-her bites he'd mentioned . . . .

The tension of the situation was giving her strange thoughts, that was all.

Humor edged his growling voice as he said, "I can smell that."

Scowling, she pretended she had no idea what he was talking about. "I _said_ shut up."

Continuing forward, Fenrir smirked, deciding to keep any further observations to himself. That was all right, she'd figure that she actually wanted him, too, eventually.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

For the umpteenth time since they'd started down the tunnel, Hermione found she had to pull her gaze from the way her wand's light danced across the muscled lines of Fenrir's back as he walked along ahead of her. She hoped the musty air of this hidden corridor would dampen any telling scent from her, but he was not mentioning it one way or another.

Either she was right, or he was amusing himself by keeping a second observation quiet under the guise that she'd 'already told him to shut up.'

"You really can see all this without light?"

He shrugged, if he was surprised she was striking up a conversation, he hid it well. Though she did have a moment of wanting to kick herself for even asking, as the way he shrugged was a beautifully fluid motion of all those muscly lines she couldn't seem to stop herself from appreciating.

"Well, wolves are nocturnal creatures by nature. I can't see great, or anything, right now, but definitely better than a human's eyes in the dark, yeah." Fenrir paused, holding up his hand to signal the witch to halt, as well. He turned his head and took a long sniff as he looked about. "Sort of like the way a cat's eyes don't really see in the dark the way people tend to think, they use what low light is around to see. In pitch darkness, they'd be as helpless as any other sighted creature."

She ignored the ripple of surprise that ran through her to realize he was more educated than she'd given him credit for. "Any other sighted creature with the animal senses of hearing and scent, sure."

The werewolf snickered as he nodded. "There is that, sure."

"Why are we stopped?"

He shook his head. His eyes narrowed, he leaned forward a bit, peering into the passageway ahead of them. "Because I think I see something."

"What?"

"Shhh."

Swallowing hard, she only watched as he again looked about, as he took another deep breath through his nostrils. This time, he raised his head. From the angle of his gaze, she could tell he was looking toward the ceiling above the section they were about to enter. In her wand light, she noticed the way his eyes widened.

She had to force herself not to follow his attention. "What is it?"

"You're going to need to let me carry you."

"Are you mad?!"

Gritting his teeth, he looked over his shoulder at her. "Put out that light, come here to me, and close your eyes."

Completely gone was his flippant tone from earlier and the serious expression that had overtaken his features spoke volumes. Her eyes wide and watering at the uncertainty screaming through her, she said, "At least tell me why?"

Opening his mouth, he winced, closed it and then shook his head and tried again. "How do you feel about arachnids?"

"Spiders?" Was there a big bloody nest, or something? "I'm not especially fond of them," she answered, the bridge of her nose crinkling in distaste.

"Uh-huh." The werewolf nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "And how would you feel about one the size of my entire upper body hanging over our heads?"

Her jaw fell and for a moment it seemed she could not form a response.

"Okay, perhaps honesty was not ideal just then. Do _not_ panic; it's sleeping. I can slip us through the webbing that's lining the next section of this tunnel without getting stuck, but we _also_ need to move silently and without the light from your wand drawing attention to us."

"But you just said you can't actually see in pitch darkness. How are you going to navigate?"

"Bastard that big? I can smell the spider silk."

"So you . . . ?" She forced a gulp down her throat and shook her head. "So you just _expect_ me to trust you?"

He shrugged. "It's me or the spider." Fenrir held his hand out to her.

The witch fidgeted in place. She didn't want to be that close to him for, well, certainly for reasons she hadn't had _before_ finding herself trapped with him. But she didn't want to be a massive arachnid's next meal, either.

Placing her hand in his, she extinguished her wand's light and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, she was being cradled in his arms. Blindly ducking her head down against his neck, she found herself doing something she shouldn't in order to distract herself from the creature hanging over them. Oblivious to her train of thought, Fenrir started through the passageway, once more.

As he moved, shifting and turning this way and that he while walked, he alternately leaned backward a bit—holding her tighter to him—and curled forward over her. She focused on the feeling of his body curved around hers, of the sensation of his muscles pressing against her limbs with each motion.

By the time he halted, letting out a relieved breath, she realized what a mistake her choice of distraction tactics had been. When he set her back on her feet, she stood immobilized for several heartbeats. She could not even seem to unlink her hands from behind his neck.

Which was even more of a mistake, because as he straightened to his full height from letting her down, her continued hold on him pulled her up against him by sheer happenstance of their height difference. She could tell by the way his stomach shivered that he was holding in a laugh.

"We're clear. You can let go, now."

The darkness made her more acutely aware of the sensation of his skin against hers and the way his breath brushed her face ever so slightly. "I know, I just . . . I just need a moment to let my nerves settle."

With a sigh, he slid one hand up over the hand behind his neck that clutched her wand. Pulling it down, he closed his fingers around hers so that he was holding the weapon, as well. " _Lumos_."

Hermione gasped as flickering light bloomed around them. She couldn't be sure if her startled sound was because it had never occurred to her to attempt to use someone else's wand while they were still holding it, or because of how her pulse hammered beneath her skin to find him staring down into her face so intently.

For a moment, it seemed he couldn't find anything to say, none of his usual snark or irreverence rearing its head. "I think you really might want to put some space between us, now, _Skönhet_."

Swallowing hard, she nodded, something about his tone sending little chills across her shoulders in harsh, but oddly enticing, contrast to the warmth she could feel in her cheeks. Dear God, it seemed suddenly hard to breathe for a few seconds, there.

She wasn't certain why, but she couldn't help the way her gaze searched his as she slid her other arm down from around his neck. He hadn't relinquished his hold on her hand, yet, and she had to force herself to drop her free hand from him—the urge to let it linger against him, to press her palm and splayed fingers against his chest was as overwhelming as it was surprising to her.

A sensation like a feather brushing across her back forced a trembling shrug out of her and she finally managed to peel herself way from him.

Furrowing her brow at her own behavior, Hermione shook her head. She was scrambling to breathe normally as she pulled her gaze from his. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking just now."

"I've a theory on that," he said, his voice husky in a way she hoped—dearly—to never hear again.

In spite of herself, her attention shot back to him. "Oh? Do enlightened me."

Smirking, he leaned down a little bit, bringing his face just a hint closer to hers, as he stepped around her. "You don't know what you were thinking, because you _weren't_."

Stunned, she found herself only able to watch him as he turned away and started down the tunnel, once more. Somehow she pushed her legs into motion to follow him.

For minutes, they walked in silence, but she felt compelled to question his observation—which, if she considered it at all, likely was correct, it only unnerved her so because that would mean she'd been ruled by instinct for those few moments. She didn't want to think what it meant that her instincts had told her to touch him, to _not_ put space between them.

"Are you saying I think too much?" Not that it would be the first time anyone had ever said that about her.

He shrugged, and though she could not see his face, she had a flash through her mind of that thoughtful frown of his gracing his lips. "Well, I don't know about _that_ —that big brain of yours is what makes you who you are, isn't it?—but there are times when things are better when we stop thinking. Let our minds wander and have our instincts take over."

Her steps almost faltered as she tried to process his words and how they'd seemed to echo her own thoughts. If she'd let her instincts take over when they'd stood like that . . . . _I think you really might want to put some space between us, now,_ _Skönhet._ She realized when he'd said that, he was probably holding himself back. A creature so ruled by his animal nature as he was, how hard must it have been to deny his instincts, just now?

"When . . .when you say 'we' and 'our,' you mean people in general, right?"

He halted just long enough to look back at her over his shoulder, that smirk reappearing, as he answered, "Sure, let's go with that."

Letting out a scoffing laugh, she shook her head, deciding to let the subject drop as they continued along the tunnel. She didn't know what she could possibly contribute, anyway. The last thing she wanted was for him to say something that would have her again rethinking her response to his closeness.

After a time, Fenrir slowed to a stop. He tipped his head to one side, obviously listening to something.

"Please God, tell me it's not another giant bloody spider," she whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound so she would not distract him.

Catching her gaze as he listened, he shook his head. "No. It's faint, but I think I hear water lapping."

She blinked a few times in rapid succession as she processed that. "That must mean this leads to an open spot in the outer wall of the prison. They put you in a cell that could lead to your escape, if only you knew where to look?"

His brows pinched together as he shook his head. "I wouldn't have looked, though. And we only broke through into the tunnel because you had a wand. They probably thought that I wouldn't be able to get out, even with the tunnel there."

The witch nodded, but her face scrunched in thought.

"Why do I feel as though I already know that look?"

"Because you've met me more than once," she said in an airy tone as she shook her head. "Probably just my imagination, but something feels wrong about this whole situation."

"I've the same feeling, but it's probably for very different reasons."

Again, she couldn't help but laugh—how on earth was Fenrir Greyback able to bring a smile to her face while barely even trying?—and shook her head. "You really need to stop that."

Turning to face her, he grinned. "Oh, you going to make me?"

Once more shaking her head, she moved to step around him. "Let's just keep moving, shall we?"

His grin faded in a blink and he darted his gaze about, a frantic glint in his eyes.

"Greyback? What's—?"

She couldn't even get the words out before he grabbed her by her shoulders and threw her down the tunnel, toward that sound of water. It was as she was flying through the air, trying not to scream, that she heard it. That terrible grinding and scraping of stone falling.

" _Go!"_

She braced to hit the ground, his shouted word the last she heard from him as stone crashed down between them. Yet, her impact with the tunnel never happened.

There was an unmistakable twisting in her gut and she recognized she was being Apparated against her will. She reappeared with a distinct popping sound and landed with a dull thud on the floor of the Warden's office.

Trembling and wincing against the blinding wash of light in the room, she breathed in little shivering inhalations as she looked about. Mr. Krist and the warden both stared back at her.

Madam Guir ran to her, throwing her arms around the younger witch as she babbled at her through relieved tears.

"What . . . ?" Hermione had to force a gulp down her throat and start again, her eyes watering from her own confusion. "What just happened?"

"Some moronic notion of the Ministry," her mentor said with an angry frown as she took off her cloak and wrapped it around Hermione's quaking shoulders. "Testing prisoners to see if they're worthy of rehabilitation."

 _"What?!"_

The warden winced at her pitch, but she had the right to be enraged. He shook his head. "We're under orders, Miss Granger. Put the prisoners into a situation where they must chose between their own life and someone else's. I assure you, _you_ were in no danger at any time. Not truly."

"That's totally barbaric! The spider large enough to swallow me whole? The portion of tunnel coming down on us?" She was too angry to be placated by the elder witch's attempts to comfort her. Struggling to her feet, she stared daggers at the warden. It escaped her notice that she didn't lump being trapped with Fenrir in with the dangers mentioned. "At what point did you consider me _safe_?"

He held up his hands, sighing. "You were not let to know about this because it was an experiment. Greyback's criminal record had him listed as beyond rehabilitation. With no family or friends, his fixation on you during the War made you the ideal candidate to test if there was anything in him worth saving." He shrugged. "But had you known that this was all a test, you might've felt compelled to tell him so and that would defeat the entire purpose."

"Again," she said, looking him over as though she thought he might just have all the intellect of an empty rucksack, "at what point did you consider me safe?"

"When you entered the prison, a ward was cast over you to bring you directly here if you were in imminent danger of coming to harm."

"I'm so sorry I could not tell you what was happening when I came back down to the solitary wing. I didn't know anything until after you'd been trapped." Madam Guir was sobbing as she spoke, she hadn't risen when Hermione had, leaving her kneeling on the floor at the younger witch's feet. "The paperwork from the Ministry's new Prisoner Oversight Division forbid _anyone_ from informing you of the test."

Hermione swallowed hard, Fenrir's voice as he'd shouted at her to go echoing through her head. "What about Greyback?"

Pulling a scroll across his desk, the Warden suddenly appeared all business as he snatched up his quill. "When you were initially trapped, I understand you were uncomfortably close to the security wall?"

"Yes, it would've come down right on top of me. If he'd not pulled me out of the way, I'd probably be dead. Provided your ward hadn't kicked in, I suppose."

He nodded, scratching away at the scroll. "And the spider you mentioned?"

"He . . . he protected me so we could slip by without alerting it to our presence." She was too stunned by the situation, by the change in demeanor as he asked these questions to do anything but answer.

"And finally, the portion of tunnel that collapsed?"

She shook her head. "He realized what was happening before I did and he forced me further along the tunnel to avoid the collapse."

"Further along, not back the direction you came from?"

"Correct."

"Leaving himself trapped?"

Dropping her gaze to the floor, she nodded. "I would have to assume so." It hadn't occurred to her until the warden said it that Fenrir's action had been to, well, to literally throw her toward potential freedom, while leaving him behind.

"Did the prisoner, at any time, attempt to subdue you or evade you?"

"No." Her voice was strangely numb as she helped Madam Guir to her feet.

"Well, everything seems to be in order. I'll have the guards—"

"What about Greyback?"

"He has likely sustained some injuries, yes, but in my experience, most prisoners are willing to forgive a bit of pain if it means they may have a chance at eventual freedom. We had no way of knowing that would happen, so I do apologize for that. However, as I had been _about_ to say, Miss Granger . . . . I'll have the guards retrieve Mr. Greyback from that tunnel. He'll receive any necessary medical treatment, and—thanks to your account of his behavior during the test—have him moved out of solitary confinement."

Hermione nodded, turning on her heel to walk out of the office with Madam Guir. She wanted to fight; she wanted to scream bloody murder. She wanted to raise hell about this, but it would do no good; the matter was not the warden's decision. She'd have to take this directly to Kingsley and have the Minister of Magic, _himself_ , do something about this appalling ruling by that blasted Prisoner Oversight Division.

A pair of guards entered as she and the other witch neared the door.

In the background, she could hear the warden giving them the same instructions he'd just told her he would. Retrieve Greyback, get him medical attention, move him back to general population.

She would pretend she didn't feel a trickle of fear wind through the pit of her stomach as she heard him tack on the words, _if he survived_.


	4. Chapter 4

I have started my own mini-FB group for dark-themed fics ( _Dark Hearts, Dark Arts_ ). For those interested, I have posted the link on my FFN Profile Page.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

"Someone's having a rough day."

Harry's voice snapped Hermione awake. Though . . . putting her head down on the bar of the Leaky Cauldron after that many shots of Fire Whiskey was probably not the best idea she'd ever had. Sitting up miserably, she turned her head to blink bleary, dark-ringed eyes at her best friend.

He winced. "Rough _week_?"

The witch closed her eyes and sighed. "I told you I had that meeting today with Kingsley to discuss the barbaric methods that bloody Prisoner Oversight Division had implemented?"

"You can't tell me he supported them?'

She furrowed her brow, waving dismissively at him. "No, no o' course not, maybe that's 'cause Kings isn't a ruddy monster like those fools. He's launching a full investigation into their methods and procedures; probably replace the current division staff with more suitably-minded individuals."

Harry took a seat on the stool next to hers and waved old Tom over to pour him a pint of ale. "Sounds like proper procedure, doesn't it? You wanted this madness with these rehabilitation trials stopped."

Hermione nodded, not arguing when Tom offered to refill her shot glass, though Harry visibly gritted his teeth at the thought of her imbibing yet more alcohol. "It is, and I did."

"So what's the problem?"

"There was just something . . . ." She moved her hand in a rotating gesture as she searched through her hazy mind for how to explain clearly. "Dissatisfying about dealing with it all in so calm a manner, you know? I mean, we're not children anymore, Harry, we've no excuse to go tearing into an establishment like the Ministry of Magic, hollering bloody murder about injustices."

"But that's what you wanted to do?"

"Of course that's what I wanted to do!" Sighing once more, she paused to knock back her waiting shot. By now her throat was a bit numb, she didn't even flinch at the burn of the whiskey, causing Harry to eye her a bit warily. "I knew from the moment I learned what was going on that I couldn't . . . and I won't lie, I did feel a strange sense of joy at how angry Kingsley got about the program when I told him, but it just . . . wasn't the same."

"Sucks being a grownup, don't it?"

"It certainly does!" She pursed her lips, turning her attention to her empty glass. Arching a brow, she tacked on, "Legal access to copious amounts of alcohol helps, though."

Harry downed the rest of his pint and then slapped some money on the bar. "Think that's my cue to get you home."

"But why?"

"Because you're not this pissed _just_ because your vehement rage resulting in a lengthy investigation was underwhelming. Something else is bothering with you, Hermione" he said as he pulled her to her feet and tugged her arm around his shoulders. "You're going to tell me while we get you some fresh air."

Hermione curled her lip, but allowed him to half-drag her out of the pub and into the crisp night air of London.

After they'd walked for a bit, enough that she seemed reasonably calmer and wasn't stumbling along beside him, he asked, "Okay, so what's really bugging you?"

She let her shoulders slump under the weight of his arm as they walked. "It's, um, it's Greyback, actually."

Harry's brow furrowed behind his glasses. "What about him?"

"I . . . I don't know. That's sort of the problem." She distractedly kicked a pebble out of her path, secretly relieved when the unplanned maneuver didn't send her drunk arse stumbling off to one side. "I spent all this time in fear of him. Dreading a day he might get free, not knowing what he might do if we crossed paths. And now . . . I don't even know what I think now. But when I found out they managed to get him out of that cave-in alive, I felt relief. Just last week, I'd have thought I'd be ready to throw a bloody party if he died, but there I was, so relieved that I thought my knees would buckle."

He pulled her close, dropping a kiss atop her head. "I'm not going to try and gloss over what he said or did during the War, and far be it from me to play Devil's Advocate for someone like him, but I will say those are times of heightened emotions. And during such a time of heightened emotions, you saw him at his worst. All you came to expect from him was his worst. In this ridiculous trial program, or whatever it was, he proved he's not the monster you believed without even knowing he had something to prove. He could've escaped, instead he risked his life to save yours." He shrugged. "Realizing there's something in him worth saving, after all, how could the way you feel about him not change?"

After a moment of quiet, during which Hermione appeared as pensive as she could possibly muster given her inebriated state, Harry frowned. "Wait . . . ."

"Hmm?" Her lips pursing and her brows drawing upward made for an adorably innocent and clueless expression.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Just how close _did_ you two get while you were trapped together?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again. Close? Her and Fenrir? As in . . . their . . . their bodies touching as he'd carried her through that portion of the corridor as though she weighed nothing at all?

 _. . . The feeling of his body curved around hers, of the sensation of his muscles pressing against her limbs with each motion._

 _When he set her back on her feet, she stood immobilized for several heartbeats. She could not even seem to unlink her hands from behind his neck._

 _As he straightened to his full height from letting her down, her continued hold on him pulled her up against him . . . ._

Even recalling it now, she had to draw in a shaky breath. She forced herself to focus, hoping the warmth she could feel flaring in her cheeks could be blamed on her level of intoxication.

Mirroring his look, she shook her head. "Shut up, Harry."

* * *

The next morning . . . or afternoon, actually, found Hermione being rather unpleasantly awoken by a sharp tapping at her bedroom window. The tapping served to intensify the pounding in her skull as she pushed her hair out of her face and pulled herself—slowly—to sit up.

Looking toward the window, she saw the unmistakable outline of an owl silhouetted against the curtain. Why couldn't the bloody bird have just sent the post through the slot in her front door? What could be so urgent that the creature was insistent she retrieve whatever it was from it, directly?

She sighed, painfully climbing to her feet and crossing the room. Pulling back the curtain, a move she instantly regretted as she tossed her free hand over her face to shield her eyes from the wash of afternoon sunlight, the witch opened the window.

"Well?" she asked the owl, knowing later she'd feel bad for being testy with the creature for simply doing its job.

The owl dropped a scroll on the inside of the window sill, but did not depart until she took it.

For a moment, she simply eyed the bird as it flew off. Wincing at the continued pounding in her head, she closed the window and dropped the curtain back down into place.

The witch crossed the house to the retrieve a pain relieving potion from her kitchen—other people kept such things in the bathroom, she kept hers right by her coffee. Downing a bit of the potion, she set to preparing a pot of coffee.

Settling at the kitchen table as she waited for the potion to take effect, and letting the wonderful smell of freshly brewing coffee fill her lungs, she snapped the wax seal holding the scroll shut.

Clearing her throat, she started to read the missive aloud.

" _Miss Granger,_

 _At your soonest convenience, your presence is required at . . . ._ "

Her brows shot up as she read on in silence. "Oh," she said upon finishing. She stared, unblinking, at the words before her. " _That's_ what's so urgent."

* * *

"We're sorry to call you back here after the, um, unfortunate circumstances of your last visit," the warden said in a tone that managed to be both sympathetic and reassuring. "But . . . it's, well, you'll have to come see for yourself."

She certainly found him more tolerable when he was groveling than when he was playing Yes Man to that awful Ministry division. "Your letter said he was—"

The warden was visibly beside himself, wringing his hands as he led her through the prison, a pair of heavily-armed guards following silently behind them. She could only guess he had since learned of her close friendship with Minister Shacklebolt, and hoped he would be spared from whatever punishments were in store for everyone who'd contributed to that madness a few days back; after all, unlike those deplorable division members who'd made these decisions in the first place, this poor sod had simply been doing his job.

"We made him aware of the incident's true circumstances when he came to, and he . . . well, he did not take the news well."

Hermione paused midstride. "You said as much in your letter, yes. But now that you've reiterated _only_ that without giving me anything more to go on, I dread to ask, _how_ 'not well,' exactly?"

He winced. "In hindsight, perhaps we should've waited until he was back behind bars before we explained the situation."

Her brows shot up and she thought her knees might buckle. "What? You told him this while he was in the infirmary? Did he hurt anyone?"

"No, no." The warden swept his arm out ahead of her and started guiding her down the corridor, once more. "His . . . expressions of anger, shall we say, seem to have been limited to items and property."

"I suppose that's some relief, then."

"Says you, you're not the one who'll have to send the bill for his destructive tear to the Ministry."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his statement, speaking through lightly clenched teeth. "Can you blame him? I'm still not certain what you think I can do."

"Well." He halted before the dingy and aged double doors of Azkaban's infirmary. "He asked about you, and though we insisted you were all right—"

"He refused to believe you?" she wagered, her tone sour.

The warden nodded. "He refused to believe us."

"And, again, I ask: Can you blame him?"

"Be that as it may, I knew the only way to calm him down would be to see you, unharmed, with his own eyes."

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded. Just last week—just last _week!_ —she'd have been terrified of the thought of walking through those double doors to place herself in the same room as an unrestrained Fenrir Greyback. Now, she was equally unsettled by that thought, but in a very different way and for a very different reason.

Regardless of her . . . _fears_ , Fenrir had saved her life more than once in a matter of hours that day. She at least owed him this much.

Bloody hell, when had she stopped thinking of him simply as Greyback?

The warden pushed open the doors. "Do you require the guards to accompany you?"

"No." She knew he wouldn't hurt her, though she thought it best to alert the werewolf to her presence before _anyone_ set foot in there. "F—Fenrir?"

After a moment, she heard him call out in a questioning tone, " _Skönhet_ _?"_

The witch forced herself to step through the doors. Her eyes widened immediately as she took in the wrecked infirmary. Hospital beds had been overturned, medicine cabinets smashed against walls, bits of shattered wood that might've been chairs or tables at some point . . . the scene was an impressive bit of chaos, actually.

She supposed it was a comfort, however, that if there had been people in here at the time, it meant that he'd deliberately avoided harming them when he was making this mess. And there'd she been, not even able to shout bloody murder in the Ministry because she was 'an adult who couldn't handle her problems that way.' Almost seemed he'd vented anger for the both of them.

There was a strange comfort in that.

Giving herself a shake, she turned her attention to scanning the room. She nearly missed him. Hunched against a back wall, he was all but hidden in the shadows.

She forced a small smile as she stepped toward him, her movements cautious. "They were telling the truth, see? I'm okay. I . . . I didn't know what was going on. I wouldn't have had any part of something like that."

Fenrir watched her, unblinking, as he straightened up. "I know you had nothing to do with it."

Her brow furrowing, she moved closer, still, trying to get a good look at him. "Will you come over here so I can see you?"

There was a pause, and then an almost child-like defensiveness in his voice as he said, "I'm a bit of a mess."

"I should say so," she tried for a laugh, but the sound fell flat. "You did sort of have a tunnel collapse in on you."

He snickered. A sigh rumbling out of him, Fenrir nodded and stepped into the light.

Hermione was not prepared for the sight of him. Still clad in only that pair of trousers—that now looked _much_ worse for wear—she could see his arms and torso were covered in bruises and cuts, one eye was nearly swollen shut and there was a gash across his jaw.

The gasp that tore out of her only made him laugh again, but it was a mirthless sound this time. "Don't . . . don't do that," he said, his voice so impossibly low she nearly didn't hear him. "Might make someone think you actually cared what happens to me."

His words struck her like a physical blow. She winced, feeling the weight of their meaning . . . . He'd let this happen to him while ensuring _her_ safety. He'd thought . . . no. He'd _accepted_ that she might not care for him at all even as he'd knowingly risked his life trying to save hers.

 _God,_ why was there the bothersome mild sting of tears gathering in her eyes?

Maybe Harry was right. Something in their shared experience had changed her feelings toward Fenrir Greyback. How else was she to explain that his thinking she didn't care what became of him actually hurt her heart?

She shook her head, but as she opened her mouth to respond, the warden broke into their bizarrely strained moment.

"If Mr. Greyback is calmed, now, we should really get him back to his cell."

"No."

Hermione could feel both the warden and Fenrir blinking rapidly at her, as though they each struggled to understand that single word.

"I beg your pardon?" the warden asked, a bewildered chuckle coloring his words. "Miss Granger? I don't know what you mean by that. If you'll just come back out here, the guards will then escort the prisoner back to—"

The words that tumbled from her lips then had both men's gazes riveted on her in shock. Indeed, even the witch's own face showed that she was just as surprised by what she'd said as they were. Hell, if that pair of guards had been in eye-line, they'd probably be gaping at her, too.

"What?" The warden's voice was pitched high with disbelief.

Fenrir echoed the word, his amber eyes wide as he stared at the petite, wild-haired woman before him.

 _Did I really just say that?_ Yet, as she stared right back at Fenrir, as she once more let her gaze rove over his wounded form, she found she could not bring herself to retract what she'd just said.

Instead, she cleared her throat and nodded, repeating herself in a calm, clear voice. "I want him released into my custody."


	5. Chapter 5

New chapter? YAY! Seriously, though, I can't even describe how much I love writing adorably petulant Fenrir Greyback.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

"You want to change your mind, don't you?"

She blinked rapidly a few times as she stared up at him, caught off-guard by his question. After her rather abrupt declaration, the warden had recognized the potential gravity of the situation, were he to answer on behalf of the Ministry without authorization, and hurried off to contact them about her . . . _suggestion_. Which was fine with her, she could very much do without that man's squirrely energy, anyway.

But, after the warden had left, Hermione moved to close the doors to the wrecked infirmary, only to be stopped by the armed guards just outside in the corridor. She made it painfully clear that she was in no mood for arguments.

Arching a brow, she said, "I need a word with the prisoner _alone_ , thank you." Not bothering to wait for a reply, she slammed the doors between herself and the guards.

As she'd turned back to face Fenrir, he had asked the question.

She shook her head. "What?"

"That's it, isn't it?" He shrugged, an expression on his face that was close to a pout and that almost childlike defensiveness from earlier returning in his tone. He didn't look up, and she thought he appeared just shy of shuffling his feet against the floor.

To see someone of his stature, of his storied ferocity, acting so . . . innocent tore at her heart a bit.

"Now that the situation's not so tense, you had a minute to think and you've changed your mind about . . . about what you said."

That was when she realized why he sounded like this. Hermione's shoulders drooped and she took a step closer to him. When she'd demanded he be released into her custody, she'd given him hope, a hope that had just as quickly been destroyed when she said she wanted to speak to him alone. He suspected she was trying to break it to him gently without risking him hurting anyone.

"No, that wasn't it at all."

Those amber eyes snapped up to lock on hers, wide in shock at her answer. He seemed at a loss for what to say to that.

She wasn't certain how to feel just now. Already he'd shown her an unexpected side of himself when he'd protected her during that trial, and now _this_? This part of him that just seemed . . . so prepared to be wounded, so ready to brace for some eventual pain.

The observation made her wonder, a small, concerned voice in the back of her head asking, _Has he_ never _known even a_ _moment's kindness?_

"I just . . . ." Taking another step closer, she looked about. He'd not left much in the way of options for sitting down, so she sat on the floor and folded her legs beneath her. "I just wanted to talk to you. If I'm going to do this, I need to understand what happened the day in Malfoy Manor. I need to know why you acted like a monster if you're . . . if you're _not_ one."

Fenrir's brows pinched together as he met her gaze once more. "Are you saying _you_ don't think that's what I am?"

A quick, pained smile curved her lips as she offered shrug. "I did. For a long time I did, you know that, but I don't anymore. And since Azkaban is known for hardening people and driving them mad, not giving them depth and layers, I realize that these non-monstrous things were part of you _before_ , you just didn't let anyone see."

He moved in plodding steps to cross the room. Stopping next to her, he took a seat on the floor, as well. Despite the fluidity of the movement as he lowered himself and folded his legs beneath him in a single motion, his bedraggled and battered state instead made it nearly appear that he'd collapsed in a heap beside her.

"Being a monster is what I was there for. It's what they expected of me. After my history—"

"Well, to be fair, you _did_ bite Remus Lupin when he was only a child."

Fenrir rumbled out a little growling sound under his breath as he shook his head. "Oh, and I'm so sure big, bad Lyall Lupin was _so_ intimidating and powerful a wizard he managed to singlehandedly run me off, too?"

Her eyes shot wide. "Are you saying the story's not true?"

The brow over his swollen eye arched at her question. "No, what I'm saying is it's just that—a story. It's only _part_ of what happened."

"So what really did happen that night?"

His broad shoulders moved in a quick shrug. "I was angry. Angry, young, and stupid . . . and pissed, did I mention pissed? So, there's this smug bastard who told me all werewolves were godless creatures who didn't deserve to live . . . and I thought tha's a bit fucked, in'it? Already afflicted with a 'curse' we've no control over, and this wanker wants to blame _us_ for our condition. I got drunk and thought I'd go tear him a new one. Turns out my balance and sense of direction were for shit after that many bottles of Fire Whiskey, and—"

"How many bottles?"

Giving her a sidelong glance, he held up one splayed hand.

Hermione's eyes shot wide. " _Wow_."

"Exactly." He shook his head, laughing derisively at the memory. "Well, I stumble over to the house, and end up crashing through a window. So there's screaming—the person in the room is screaming, I'm screaming—my vision's so blurred at this point, I can barely see straight, I fall down and bust my arse. Next thing I know, there's someone grabbing at me, I think it's him so I just bite down . . . and only realize what I've done when there's suddenly a child crying mixed in with all the noise, and Lyall bursts into the scene, wand drawn and so convinced the chaos that ensued was intentional that he just starts launching hexes at me. Well, now I figure I'm truly fucked, I'm not in control of my faculties at all, and I wouldn't be able to hit the broadside of a barn even if I could get my wand, which to this day I can't even remember if I had it with me that night. So, I scramble up off the floor and go right back out the way I came. By pretty much the next bloody morning, it's all over Wizarding Britain that I came there with the _purpose_ of biting the boy to get back at his father."

She only watched him for several heartbeats after he'd finished talking. Her lips folding inward, she tried very hard to get past the mental picture of a young, _very_ drunk Fenrir Greyback, and a four-year-old Remus Lupin screaming nonsensically at each other in the dark.

He jumped at the wild giggle that bubbled out of her. Fenrir stared at her in confusion as she threw back her head, the sound of her laughter full and genuine. After a few moments, she caught her breath, wiping her hands across her cheeks.

When she'd calmed, she looked at him, only to find herself holding back another amused outburst at his bewildered expression. "Sorry, it's just . . . the way you set the scene was pretty hilarious. But I suppose we could get back to you answering my question now."

Fenrir cast his gaze downward. Shifting to raise his knees from the floor, he wrapped his arms loosely around his legs as he sighed. "It's really as simple as I said. They expected a monster of me, and it was the only use I had to them. Because of me, no one would look at a werewolf like we were anything but . . . ." He heaved another sigh. "The Dark Lord's side might've not treated us well, but at least they didn't hate and fear us like the Light. They didn't try to lock us up just for being what we were. When I . . . 'saw' isn't really the right word, because it wasn't about the sight of you. I've never been one to censor what I say, so when I think something it sort of just flies out of my mouth, as-is, even if it isn't what I mean. When I encountered you that day, the first thing that popped into my head was, well, you heard it."

She nodded, the entire incident taking on a different feel now that she had a new perspective on it and _him_. "That you wanted to take bites of me."

He shook his head, his eyes rolling. "Didn't mean it literally, but it was close. And it's not easy being a werewolf in a situation like that. That much tension and anger and . . . . It's like the animal takes over and _everything_ it tells you sounds like a good idea. Tear someone's arm off? Sure! Destroy a room? Okay. Consider sinking your teeth into some pretty little thing? Definitely one of the harder urges to dismiss, thanks very much."

There was something in his tone. It was odd enough sitting here with him in such a peaceful moment, but that he seemed to want to say something more, something he clearly wasn't certain on how she'd respond to, made it odder, still. She watched in silence, waiting for him to go on.

"I don't even know why. Promise you won't get scared again if I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

He shifted in place to face her fully before he said, "Promise."

Hermione shrugged, shaking her head. "I can promise I'll try not to be scared."

Fenrir's lips twitched side-to-side as he thought over. "I suppose tha's close enough. On that day, last week . . . . The desire to have you was completely and utterly a violent thing."

"Violent?" Her brow furrowed and she swallowed hard. "You . . . you mean like ra—?"

"No. Not like _that._ " To his credit, he didn't feign looking offended that her mind went there, rather he genuinely appeared upset for a moment. "It's hard to explain, precisely, because it was such an instinctive drive, but it's just this sort of rush of urges and mental images. Makes it hard to think or even act around what that instinct is telling you to do."

She attempted to ignore then their discussion in the tunnel about instincts, because she could fully admit that her own had told her to do things with which her mind certainly had not agreed. Well, she _could_ fully admit that, but she wasn't about to.

"So has that . . . has that been what it's like for you whenever you're around me?"

He nodded, his expression carefully blank as he held her gaze.

Her chestnut eyes widened a little. "Even now?"

Again, he nodded.

Hermione stared back at him, unable to speak for a few heartbeats. He sat there seeming so calm. During that time in the tunnel when she'd thought he must've been holding himself back, she'd had no idea the extent to which she'd been correct. He had so much more self-control than she'd thought possible. Certainly more than she'd ever actually imagined him capable of.

But then, she remembered his admittance that it had happened when he'd first encountered her, because to say when he first 'saw' her was incorrect. With his wolf senses, and what she knew about herself, she understood suddenly and clearly.

"It's my scent, isn't it?"

His brows pinched together in a look of shock. "You knew?"

"Only for the last few years. After the War." She shook her head. Story time in the Azkaban infirmary, continued! "There was this incident with Remus, actually, two incidents, but . . . . I'd always felt especially close to him, comfortable with him. Finding out he was a werewolf had never scared me, I thought just because I was a Muggleborn, so I wasn't raised with the horror stories about them like pure-bloods. Anyway, one night, I had to stop him from attacking Harry, and I howled. I had thought it was the first thing to pop my head because I'd just researched werewolves and the text said they respond to the call of their own kind."

Fenrir arched one eyebrow.

"I know," she said with a sad laugh and another shake of her head, that look on his face speaking volumes. "It didn't occur to me until way after that it was right there in the words 'the call of their _own_ kind.' But lycanthropy's only hereditary if one has a parent who's a werewolf and even then it's only a fifty-fifty chance, so I'd had no reason to think that it meant anything at all; I'd never considered the genetic markers might carry on longer than that. _Then_ . . . ."

His nostrils flared and he frowned. "You don't have to say whatever you're about to if it makes you sad."

"No, I . . . I feel like I have to say it. I have to come to terms about what happened." Forcing a gulp down her throat, she closed her eyes and nodded. "I think he always knew that I had wolf blood, but he was afraid to tell me because he thought it would change how I felt toward them, you, _him_. I didn't understand what he meant until it was far too late, but . . . on the battlefield, I'd found him just wounded and staggering about. I begged him not to fight anymore, but he insisted. He said if it was his destiny to die in a battle that would bring about a better world then neither of us could stop that. That neither of us _should_. And then he . . . he kissed me."

Fenrir's mouth twitched, this time as he attempted to hold back a little, territorial growl.

"He was my friend, my mentor . . . . He was also a married man with a recently-born child. I'm _not_ proud of it, but I kissed him back." Her eyes watered and she shrugged, sniffling. "It was like I couldn't help it. I had this voice telling me it would be that last time we saw each other, and I just _had_ to. And then he told me that no matter what feels like it's meant to be, sometimes, it simply _isn't_. Timing, life, the world, just won't let some things happen. And then he was gone. The next time I saw him, he was . . . ."

Unable to stop himself, Fenrir reached out, wiping a tear from her cheek with a crooked finger.

If she was startled by the gentleness of his gesture, she made no show of it. Sighing, she forced herself to go on. "Seeing him dead just about tore out my heart. Like I lost part of myself, and I couldn't understand why the pain was that bad. I'd lost so many friends, that this one loss stood out _so_ sharply . . . ? Then I remembered the howl. So I started researching. My heritage, old family records. Finally, I simply asked my mother if she knew that werewolves really existed, just like witches and wizards. That's when she told me about her father; she never really talked about him when I was growing up. He disappeared when she was young, but . . . everyone thought he was mad. Before my grandmother got pregnant with her, my grandfather had been camping with some mates from university, and they encountered some strange animal. He wouldn't talk about it, but when he started disappearing around the full moons and showing up the next morning with unexplained wounds, everyone thought he'd convinced himself that what he'd encountered was a werewolf."

"Muggles don't believe in werewolves?"

Hermione couldn't help but snicker at the insult in his tone. "No. So, it wasn't until I told her they actually exist—sitting there before her, her witch daughter with a half-Kneazle cat in her lap—that she realized her father hadn't been mad. That he hadn't abandoned them, but had probably run because he needed the freedom to live as what he was."

He smirked. "Never a simple story with you, is it?"

Smiling, she dropped her gaze to her hands. "Suppose not. But I know it was just that. Something is passed down through the blood. I connected with Remus because it as a sort of an innate instinct to form a pack-bond. That was probably why you terrified me as much as you did. You felt a little familiar, because you were another werewolf, but the way you behaved was this stark, frightening contrast from what I knew, from what I suppose my psyche expected to experience in the presence of another werewolf because of him. It's probably been a long time since you've been around a werewolf you didn't create yourself, so the scent of wolf from me was new, and thus probably inviting to you."

"That makes a shocking amount of sense." He gave her a sidelong glance that was all measure and appraisal. "You always think this deeply?"

"On all but the rarest of occasions."

Those amber eyes narrowed in thought. What would it take to get her to act on instinct with him?

Sooner than the animal in him could offer any suggestions, he detected a most unwelcome scent. Yet, he'd been so caught up in their discussion that by the time he turned his head to look over his shoulder toward the doors, they were already opening.

"Kingsley?" Hermione shot to her feet, seeming unnoticing of how shocked the Minister of Magic was to find her sitting there calmly with Fenrir Greyback. "What are you doing here?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Sighing, she gave an exasperated eye roll. "I don't mean to say you can't be here, but I would have thought you've more important things to handle than this."

"The Prisoner Oversight Division is in a shambles, as you well know, and when the warden told us about your proposal, well, I thought it seemed like a matter I should attend to _directly."_

Fenrir pursed his lips, his gaze leaping back and forth between them. He wondered if this was what a child felt like when they suspected their parents were about to get into a row.

"I meant precisely what I told the warden." She held up her hands. "I want this man released into my custody. I'll take responsibility for him."

"Hermione—"

"I've already thought it through. My flat is a bit small, but there are plenty of unused properties currently in the Ministry's holding. While he's in my custody, we can stay at one of those, warded to prevent him escaping, of course. Put a cell in the basement to contain him on full moons, better yet, perhaps some sort of enclosed wooded area on the property."

She really was serious! Fenrir furrowed his brow, but they'd been deep in conversation since nearly the moment after she'd mentioned this mad plan of hers. When the bloody hell had she the time to put so much thought into this?

"As I was saying," the Minister started with clenched teeth, "you need to be certain about this. He's a dangerous individual. I'd watch what I'm saying, but he knows perfectly well his own reputation."

"Yes, and I'd like to point out to you that when he destroyed this room in a fit of anger, he waited until it was empty so he wouldn't hurt anyone. He could be attacking you, but he didn't even budge when you came in. For someone _so_ dangerous, he certainly seems capable of behaving like he's, well, not. And he wouldn't hurt me, that blasted trial that started all this mess proved that, didn't it?"

Kingsley backed up a little, resting his hips back against the nearest wall and folding his arms across his chest. Blinking tiredly, he pinched between his brows. "Given the report from his trial, and . . . certain provisions, yes. Your request for Fenrir Greyback to be released into your custody _could_ be granted."

Hermione turned a bright, _I told you so_ , grin on Fenrir.

"However," Kingsley said in a sharp tone, "you will be expected to report in daily. One provision, that is beyond dispute, will be that if he harms you in even the slightest measure, he goes back into solitary. Now, we have paperwork to get to if this thing is to happen. It will likely take a few weeks to—"

"No."

"What?"

Hermione uttered a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. "I mean that's too long, I need to get him out of here now."

"You know that won't be possible."

Now that anger she'd wanted to unleash on the Ministry after first getting out of that ruddy trial was creeping back in. "You're the Minister of Magic! I don't care how it happens, but _you_ have the power to make this work. Fast track it, whatever, but it has to be done, now."

"That'd be an abuse of power and you know it!"

She couldn't believe she was having this argument with him. A past Minister abused power to cover up signs that Voldemort was coming back out of cowardice, why couldn't Kingsley use that same power to do something that was right?

"Look at him. Okay? Look what they let happen to him _just_ to make him prove he's not irredeemable!"

Kingsley sighed. It was true, Greyback was a mess. He was already starting to see her side of this argument—how could they be better than the dark forces they fought against if they turned a blind eye to want amounted to torture of prisoners? But he at least had to put up a fight.

"Hermione, you know there are rules and regulations regarding this sort of thing."

"Well, fine. If you can't let him go with me now, then I'll just stay here until it's all made official."

Fenrir slapped a hand against his forehead. "She's a mad woman."

Kingsley tipped his head to one side to look at Fenrir, unable to believe he and the werewolf were in agreement. "It's how she wins arguments. How, exactly, do you suggest I 'fast track' this, Miss Granger?"

"I suggest you make it clear that this decision is a direct result of the previous Prisoner Oversight Division's cruel and barbaric tactics. Remind them, and the Wizarding public, that the prisoner in question is still in official custody, and they are in no danger from him. And, had they done their job with the _faintest_ scrap of humanity in their decision-making process, this is a measure that never would've needed be taken!"

Sighing, Kingsley rolled his eyes. "I thought as much, I just needed to hear it from a second party. Let me go make arrangements . . . and possibly level some threats."

In utter disbelief, Fenrir watched the other man push off from the wall and exit the room. Climbing to his feet, he stared down at Hermione, unblinking. "I'm . . . I'm going to be free?"

She shrugged, offering her best 'insufferable know-it-all' grin. "Within reason, of course." She let it go unsaid that, technically, this only meant he was going to be _her_ prisoner.

That snarky side of him would find too much to be smug about in that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

True to her word, the mad little witch did not leave the prison without him. Save for one rather cautious—and, from his understanding, speedy—run to the loo, Hermione Granger stayed by his side the rest of that day and long into the evening, when the Minister of Magic had finally returned with the proper, ordered, documentation to allow her to bring him to some pure-blood manor or another that was currently without owner.

As they'd waited, the pair had lapsed into a strangely comfortable silence. He couldn't begin to guess what was running through her tangled and undoubtedly confusing mind during that time—if she was having any second thoughts on these arrangements, she never let on about it, though he certainly imagined she must be. Anybody would. He didn't know if her current state of calm and quiet was a sign of surety in her own decision, or of her stubbornness in not wanting to admit she'd made a wee booboo here.

At one point, she sank into her own thoughts so deeply, so visibly, that she began to nod off, seemingly without her own notice. She had returned to sitting across from him, her hands linked around her bent knees. He tried not to read too much into the situation that she was able to fall asleep with him in such close proximity. In his experience, one had to feel safe, had to feel comfortable, in order to doze off like that, but for all he knew maybe she'd simply had a really long day. After all, it was hardly as though a day that ended with someone arguing for the freedom of a werewolf whose very existence had once scared them senseless was a typical 24 hours for _anyone_.

Tipping his head, he'd watched her snoozing quietly for a time. Until the moment she began slowly leaning sideways.

Amber eyes widening, Fenrir was on his feet and across to her as quickly and silently as he could move. Settling beside her on the floor, he resumed his original position—mirroring the way she sat—just in time for her to droop against his side, her cheek falling onto his shoulder.

He turned his head, looking into her face for a few heartbeats. "You're a right little mess when left on your own, aren't you?" he asked softly, his amused voice too low to disturb her.

That was when the Minister returned. Just as earlier, Fenrir had smelled Kingsley Shacklebolt before he even reached the doors. This time, however, the werewolf did not have Hermione in his face distracting him, so he was able to act before the wizard came through the doors. He lifted a hand to his lips, pressing a finger against them in a silencing gesture so that he was already cautioning the Minister by the time he stepped into the room.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had felt his brows shoot so high up his forehead, he thought if he had hair, they'd have disappeared beneath it. He didn't know what was the stranger aspect of this image—that the witch was sleeping peacefully against the werewolf, or that the werewolf appeared so protective of her.

Worse still, that they seemed a bit . . . natural together like this.

Collecting himself, the Minister gave his head a shake. He waved a scroll in the air. "I take it you would prefer to be the one who wakes her?" he asked in a whisper, certain now more than ever that she had been right. Kingsley might not trust Fenrir Greyback as far as he could throw him, but he now suspected there was no way in hell Greyback would ever let harm come to Hermione Granger.

Nodding, Fenrir turned his attention to the sleeping witch. He moved his shoulder beneath her cheek in nudge, gentle and slight. " _Skönhet?"_ he said softly, intentionally ignoring whatever Kingsley's reaction might be to him already having a pet name for her.

Hermione didn't want to open her eyes. She was tired—good Lord, was she tired—and was only distantly remembering that when she'd dragged herself out of her flat that afternoon, she'd not really felt rested and had only left because of this situation with Fenrir. She wished they'd just leave her be. She was comfortable, one side of her body curled against a solid and inviting warmth.

And then she'd heard the deep rumbling of his voice calling her that name and she found herself stirring, albeit reluctantly. It was a strange thought, but she'd really just rather stay like this, listening to him talk for a bit longer.

Then she opened her eyes and the sight of his face, all bruised and battered from their ordeal a few days ago, came sharply into focus. Reminded her of where they were and what he'd been through for her sake.

He mistook the reason for her deer-in-the-headlights stare. Fenrir had thought the dynamic between them might be changing; maybe he shouldn't hope for things, anymore.

"Sorry," he said, his mouth curving downward into a frown of its own volition. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't." She shook her head, precisely where it rested against his shoulder. "I just genuinely forgot for a moment how bad they hurt you."

Fenrir swallowed hard, a bizarrely visceral shock washing through him at her concern. He didn't think anyone'd ever . . . . Nope, he absolutely could not recall the last time someone had worried for him. About him? Absolutely, but that was a far different matter. No one had cared what became of him in longer than he could remember.

It hurt in a strange way. Like thorns pricking his heart.

Forcing away the sensation that was an odd mix of warm and unpleasant, he nodded toward Kingsley. "Your friend the Minister is here."

Hermione followed Fenrir's gesture, puzzled for a moment by the flicker of pain she thought she'd glimpsed in the werewolf's eyes—of course he was in pain, he was a bloody mess, almost literally. "Oh!" She moved gingerly as she climbed to her feet, the gentle slowness of her motions a response to her own tiredness as well as her desire to not give Fenrir reason to think she was getting jumpy around him again.

"Well," she said expectantly, holding out her hand for the scroll. "Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt. I very much appreciate your efforts and expediency in this matter."

Kingsley's features pinched as he placed the paperwork into her outstretched fingers. "It's never a good sign when you're so formal."

The witch arched a brow as she unrolled the document and looked it over. "Nonsense. You pulled strings for me, possibly abused power a little, the least I can do is be courteous about the whole thing, don't you think? Hmm. Shafiq House? I don't believe I'm familiar with that name."

"The Shafiq line is a Sacred Twenty-Eight family who fled at the start of the Second War." Kingsley shrugged, unsurprised by her lack of information on them. Not many people even recalled the family. "The grounds of Shafiq House have been Ministry property ever since."

"So basically the one with the least paperwork involved?"

He chuckled. "Precisely. Expediency. Now, you understand that I, and a contingent of Aurors, will be escorting the two of you to your new residence, yes?"

"I suppose that was to be expected," Fenrir said as he stood. Hermione found she had to snap her head around, forcefully dragging her attention away from him as he moved in a long, lazy stretch that accentuated his height and . . . breadth.

"Well, wards or no wards," The Minister explained as he ignored the blush his friend would probably not wish to admit had colored her cheeks for a second, there, "you will be watched as Miss Granger returns to her home to gather whatever she needs. The Aurors will, of course, double-check that the grounds are wholly secure and provide Mr. Greyback with suitable attire during this time."

Fenrir smirked, his massive form drooping a little as he followed Hermione and the Minister toward where that aforementioned contingent waited in the main corridor of the prison's ground floor. "Aww, are they going to bathe me, too?"

"Fenrir!" the witch snapped in a hissing tone.

Despite his amusement, Fenrir noticed another passing wash of pink tint her face for a few flickering heartbeats. She was blushing at the thought of him bathing? He bit his bottom lip hard, struggling to keep a response to that to himself. To think, when this had all started, she'd been horrified that she had been shown to his cell just after he'd had his scrub down. Now this?

 _Progress_ , he thought with an inward grin.

* * *

Shafiq House was huge. Not as mind-bogglingly enormous as some of the ancestral pure-blood estates Hermione had seen, but it was certainly a lot to take in all at once. Large, dusty-paned sunrooms could be seen on either side of the main house, the entire edifice was a deep green that called to mind the emblem of Slytherin House, and she thought sure her entire building could fit within the ground's confines two or three times over. Once inside the whining wrought-iron gates, she could smell the rich scents of soil and foliage. Likely the grounds had expansive gardens in the back—nestled between the estate's buildings and the lush, forested tree line she could see in the distance. She imagined, or at least hoped, a section of that had been specifically cordoned off for Fenrir's full moon transformations, just as she'd suggested.

Unless . . . . "So," she started as she hurried along beside Kingsley—tall men and their annoying long-legged strides! "For the full moon . . . ? What was decided?"

Kingsley sighed, casting a glance back over his shoulder at Fenrir. The prisoner was in the center of the Aurors. One ahead of him, one behind, one on either side . . . yet, somehow the Minister couldn't shake the feeling that if he really wanted to, Fenrir Greyback would be able to prove that even four highly trained, highly skilled Dark wizard hunters were no match for him.

He produced the keys to the house and handed them over to Hermione, speaking as she set to unlocking the door. "You will not find a cell in the basement. After a quick conference with a few Healers from Saint Mungo's to whom I was referred by your mentor, Madam Guir, it's been decided that given what happened during his last imprisonment, holding him captive in any fashion, even during a full moon, would potentially do more harm than good. So your second idea, giving him space in the woods to run about, was deemed the most suitable option. Of course, he still won't be 'free', but being in the forest will give him the illusion of it while he's under the moon's sway."

Finally getting the door open after a moment's fuss with the old lock, Hermione pivoted on her heel and looked up at the Minister.

Kingsley shrugged. "Or so I'm told. It's what the Healers said."

She nodded. "I figured as much, I just . . . . I don't know, I suppose I didn't expected them to be so forward-thinking with regard to mental health. It's as surprising as it is refreshing. No one seems to give a rat's arse about the mental health of werewolves."

Once more he sighed, clamping a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm aware. I also know how close you were with Remus—" _No, you really don't_ , she thought, hiding a wince over precisely the thing which only Fenrir knew about her closeness with Remus Lupin—"and I also know his father's treatment of him could've been a detriment to him. This entire case has led to a lot of thought about our handling of those bearing the curse. If this works, if you manage to rehabilitate Greyback, out of all of his kind, it could lead to something entirely new for them."

She offered a pained smile. Too late for Remus, but she'd always believed he could not possibly the only werewolf who wasn't down-to-his-core evil. Already Fenrir was proving that even _he_ wasn't like that all while the entirety of Wizarding Britain was so ready to believe otherwise. Hermione hadn't even considered that this step she had taken for Greyback's sake could actually help others. She was both glad for it and a little ashamed at her own shortsightedness.

"C'mon, then," Kingsley said, saving her from having to push past the lump in her throat to respond. "We will show you two about and then you'll go get your things."

She nodded, looking back at Fenrir. "While they babysit him."

Fenrir couldn't help himself, these ruddy Aurors were so stuffy and boring and ready to strike, never mind that there were four of them and he was unarmed—he supposed he should be glad his reputation proceeded him so. He clamped his hands around his mouth, causing his voice to carry, "And don't forget possibly bathing me!"

The Aurors, who'd not been privy to the early discussion, all turned aghast expressions on each other. Hermione burst out laughing nearly against her will and the Minister cursed under his breath, his eyes rolling so hard the lids fluttered.


End file.
